


Look into the Distance

by Floral-Foxes (stilalalinski)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Guns, M/M, The gang really does love each other, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, trans charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilalalinski/pseuds/Floral-Foxes
Summary: "So he’s poor and medicine costs money. Hormones cost money.Which he has none of…So it’s been six weeks and suddenly Charlie is a teenager again angry at his body and screaming this isn’t right."-------A03 needs more trans Charlie fics and I will write them all if I have to. This is basically 4,000 words of the gang being idiots and realizing they really love Charlie.





	Look into the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Back with another IASIP fic oh my. 
> 
> This was an idea I really wanted to tackle and I took the time to do some research and talk with friends, so I hope I did it justice. Please let me know if anything I wrote comes across poorly (well, besides the obvious canon transphobia the gang has).

As resident janitor and overseer of any unsolicited jobs, Charlie is used to pain.

He feels it in his back when he’s spent hours bashing the poor skulls of rats in, each vertebra screaming in rigid defiance of his age; feels it in the tips of his fingers when a broken wire sparks a jolt through his tired body; feels his knees pop and feet ache from crouching on hard tile all day--Charlie is used to pain. 

At one point in his life he was used to the pain in his gut, in his low back, the way it might feel to have a knife slice you open. He was used to the pressure on his chest, and the pain in his heart, and the breath screaming from his lungs this isn’t right. 

But Charlie had grown up, grown into himself, fought with his body until it matched who he always wanted to be--and that pain had stopped. 

It had fucking stopped so why--

“Fuck,” the swear is a hiss, and Charlie tries to subtly fold in on himself behind the bar. He could really use a cigarette right now.

He spots Dee in a corner hustling some poor men out of more money for a drink than is necessary, and makes a beeline towards her, tripping over his feet on the way.

“Dee, alley, now,” he barks and Dee is so startled she simply follows him out back. When the door clangs shut behind them she turns a glare onto the smaller man.

“What the hell, Charlie, I was about to get a shit ton of money from them,” she frowns and crosses her arms. Charlie squints and bites his tongue on an insult, foot kicking wildly against the dumpster behind him.

“Whatever, I don’t care, you have a cig?” he asks in a breath, eyes bright in anticipation. Dee’s lips purse and Charlie really doesn’t want to call her a bird, but she makes it so easy sometimes.

“You pulled me away from a $50 tip for a cig break?” her voice is breathy in the way it gets when she’s working herself up, a screech of anger building in her throat aching to tear out. 

“Uh, yeah?” Charlie shifts nervously, eyes darting around the alley for something to break. He needs to break something fuck he’s in so much pain. “Can I just have the cig? You can go back in or whatever, I just, like, really need it.” 

“Goddammit, Charlie,” Dee growls but she’s reaching into her back pocket anyways, pulling out the familiar crushed box of Marlboros. Charlie snatches the cig as soon as it appears, hands fumbling through his own pocket for his lighter. 

His fingers tremble when he finally gets a flame going, and he can feel Dee scrutinizing him but the first puff of nicotine is so sweet he hardly cares. He lets out a deep sigh and the smoke drifts silently between them. 

“What’s going on up there?” Dee’s voice is harsh, but when she pokes Charlie’s head it’s softer than he expected. He glances at her from the corner of his eyes while he takes another drag, wordlessly offering her the next hit afterwards. It’s only when she’s brought the cigarette to her lips does Charlie speak.

“I needed a break, is all,” he shrugs plainly, stubbornly ignoring the pain that slices through his abdomen. Maybe he slouches a little more, maybe his face is twisted into a frown, but if he pretends it doesn’t exist maybe he can trick himself into truly believing it. 

“You look a little pale,” Dee says, offering him the cig back. He gratefully takes another drag and closes his eyes, letting the nicotine pleasantly buzz in his head. 

“I’m good I--fuck,” Charlie feels his body spasm painfully and he has to struggle to breath for a second. 

“Shit, Charlie, are you okay?” Dee is in front of him now, eyes wide and concerned, and if she wasn’t being so earnest Charlie would hiss something sarcastic back. 

“Yeah, yeah, stomach pain,” he chuckles weakly, “I told Frank that bird was rancid last night.” 

Dee pulls a face and steps back, worry instantly dampened by Charlie’s obvious lack of self-preservation. 

“God, you two are so gross,” she groans and turns to head back inside. “Come back when you’re over whatever fucking bird sickness you have, jesus,” she sighs and the door slams shut behind her. 

Charlie grimaces at his own story, but decides he’d rather have the gang think he ate gross, rabies infested bird or whatever, than what’s actually happening. 

The truth is--Charlie’s poor. He’s so fucking poor and he knows this, the gang knows this, and his doctor especially knows this. He doesn’t have health-insurance, he barely makes enough at the bar for groceries, and he definitely wouldn’t be affording his apartment right now without Frank. 

So he’s poor and medicine costs money. Hormones cost money. 

Which he has none of…

So it’s been six weeks and suddenly Charlie is a teenager again angry at his body and screaming this isn’t right. 

He never thought the world was a very fair place, but for a while he had finally gotten his shit together, felt truly like himself for the first time in his whole life--only to have that torn away because of some stupid pieces of green paper. 

Charlie frowns and stomps on the bud of the cigarette, heel twisting until the ash is barely even there. 

He had tried asking the gang for money early on, but the schtick got old and besides, hormones cost a little more than the pocket change they were willing to give up. 

So he’s six weeks out and in pain and his binder feels awfully tight, like a vice squeezing him with all the reminders of a body that he doesn’t want to belong to him. 

Charlie huffs and straightens his back, hears a satisfying pop, and decides to head back to the bar. He’ll just ignore this like he ignores everything else shitty in his life--with booze and drugs.

He notices Dennis behind the bar when his eyes finally adjust to the darkness of Paddy’s, and he braces himself for whatever scathing remarks the man has in him today. 

Dennis’s focus seems to be on Mac, however; who’s currently stuffing his face with his new binge meal of the day. 

“Mac, that’s the third burger I’ve watched you shove down your throat in less than an hour,” Dennis frowns, eyeing Mac with disgust. Charlie silently slides into the stool next to Mac and barely gets a glance from Dennis. 

“I’ve told you, dude,” Mac starts defensively, mouth still full of food, “you gotta stay carbed up to build mass.”

“No, you stay carbed up to build fat,” Dennis scoffs and rolls his eyes towards Charlie, as if expecting him to share in his derision of their friend. 

“Carbs are great,” Charlie says, instead, and Dennis frowns. 

“See, Charlie gets it!” Mac beams, and Charlie really wants to encourage him but there’s bits of bread stuck in his teeth so he just shrugs and feigns ignorance. 

“Do you even know what carbs are, Charlie?” Dennis’s voice is doubtful, and Charlie kinda wants to punch him.

“Like bread and shit, right?” he hazards a guess, some hazy memory of Dee prattling in her kitchen complaining about bread and carbs and calories surfacing. “And breads great, really good with cheese, like perfect combo,” he hums in satisfaction. 

“Sure, if you want to look like Porky over here,” Dennis gestures at Mac, who simply flips the man off and continues eating. 

“You should eat all the carbs you want, man,” Charlie grins and pats Mac’s arm affectionately, aware of the way Dennis narrows his eyes at him. 

“What is with you people?” he screeches and storms off towards the bathroom, Charlie watching him go with wry amusement.

“You reek of smoke dude,” Mac grunts around his food, and Charlie self-consciously sniffs at his jacket. 

“Yeah, well, you reek of sweat and meat,” he retorts lamely, standing on the stool pegs so he can grab some alcohol behind the bar. His intention was to pour himself a large shot of whiskey, but he spots a bottle of red wine tucked into the corner and picks that instead. 

There’s another memory in there somewhere of Dee pouring herself a large glass of wine, a heating pad clutched tightly to her stomach. It was some rain trodden night when Charlie couldn’t sleep and Dee was awake crying over the phone about something and they had watched some crappy horror movie until Dee fell asleep on his shoulder. 

She had said red wine helps with cramps--

He takes a sip straight from the bottle and winces at how dry it is. Mac sends him a questioning look but doesn’t say anything, and Charlie really loves him in that moment. 

“Done puking or whatever?” Dee calls out to Charlie as she emerges from the back room. 

“You threw up?” Mac asks, attention suddenly solely on Charlie. Charlie fidgets with the neck of the bottle and kicks his feet a little.

“No, I didn’t throw up,” he glares at Dee who smiles innocently back. “I just felt a little sick.”

“He ate some rancid bird last night, apparently,” she breezes past them, and any fondness Charlie had felt for Dee earlier is gone in an instant. 

“Come on, dude, seriously?” Mac’s eyes are large and round in that heart melting way they get sometimes. 

“I didn't know at the time!” Charlie protests are lost when Frank comes storming into the bar, pistol waving wildly in his hand.

“Everyone out!” he shouts and points his pistol at their measly lot of patrons. The customers grumble and roll their eyes but file out, well aware of Paddy’s antics by now. 

“Where’s Dennis?” Frank hollars and the gun swings towards the bathroom when the door flies open.

“What the hell, Frank?” Dennis shouts right back, noticing the completely empty bar. “You scared all of our customers away!” 

He stalks towards Frank with a scowl and swats the gun away from his chest.

“Put that down you buffon.” 

“No!” Frank pushes the gun into Dennis’s back and guides him onto a stool. “Not until I know which one of you little shits stole my money.” 

The bar is eerily quiet as the gang all glance between one another. They’ve all been stealing from Frank for years, overtly and on the sly, why Frank would suddenly care is beyond them.

“What are you talking about, Frank?” Dee finally asks, derision lacing her words. Dennis nods at his sister’s words, eyebrows arching impatiently. 

“I’m talking about the 5-hundo I had stashed away in the back office. It was there yesterday, and now it’s gone,” Frank roars and the pistol is more focused on them now. “So which one of yas took it? Fess up now and maybe I won’t blast ya brains out!”

Mac groans and crinkles his wrappers up, turning fully in his seat to face Frank for the first time.

“You’re holding us at gunpoint for $500 dollars? That’s like ten bucks to you,” he scowls.

“Yeah, and I’d want those ten bucks back, too,” Frank argues, gun leveling with Mac. 

“Come on, Frank,” Charlie tries to calm his roommate down, eyes darting between the gun and Mac, who looks severely unimpressed for someone who might eat a bullet at any second. “I’m sure it was a mistake.”

“No-way, Charlie, this was labeled and everything,” Frank says, but the gun doesn’t turn his way, so Charlie counts that as a win. 

“We take money from you all the time,” Dee adds unhelpfully, “why would this matter?”  
“It’s not like you can’t easily replace it,” Dennis continues, gesturing at Dee to pour him a drink. His twin rolls her eyes but reaches down to pour him beer, when it slides down the bar to him it’s nothing but foam. She shoots him a nasty grin and he flips her off.

Charlie takes a cautious sip of his wine while Frank scrutinizes his kids, gun wavering between Dee and Dennis. 

“I was saving that money to blow on the most beautiful whore I ever saw,” he shrugs, and the gang all groans.

“You’re mad someone stole your whore money?” Mac asks incredulously.

“Yes!” Frank shouts, “she was very beautiful and very expensive!” 

“Seriously, Frank, gross,” Dee hisses and walks around the bar towards the back office. “This is stupid and I’m done with it.”

“Uh, yeah, same. Wait up, sis,” Dennis echos and slides off his chair after Dee.

There’s a resounding ricochet of noise when Frank fires his gun at the twins. The bullet blasts into the ground by Dennis’s foot who hops away with a high-pitched scream.

“What the fuck are you doing, you old, senile, fool?!” Dennis spits, eyes wide at the bullet hole in the ground. “You could have killed me!” 

“I wasn’t aimin’ to kill, just maim ya a little,” Frank snorts. “Which I’ll still do if I don’t get my money.”

“Oh god, he’s finally snapped,” Dee whispers and goes to stand behind Dennis so she can prop a hand on his shoulder. “He’s finally going to murder all of us.”

“Okay, okay, can we just, calm down?” Charlie asks frantically, hopping out of his seat to stand in front of Frank, hands raised placatingly. 

“Move, Charlie,” Frank orders.

“Are you going to shoot Dennis if I do?”

“...Maybe.”

Charlie shuffles anxiously on his feet, acutely aware of his sweat soaked back. 

“I’m sure who ever stole the money will bring it back exactly where they found it tomorrow,” he tries hesitantly, eyes wide and pleading.

Frank’s brows furrow and he stares Charlie down, slowly the gun is pointed more steadily on him.

“What do you know, Charlie?” 

From the corner of his eye he can see Mac shift to stand, and he knows he’d try and tackle Frank with some ridiculous move if he thought Charlie was really about to get shot. Frank is trigger happy, and who ever gets in his way is going to end up with a bullet in their leg, or worse, their skull. 

Charlie sighs and the image of the money tucked safely in his sock drawer seers his mind.

“If someone admits to taking it, are you going to shoot them?”

“Only if they didn’t spend it,” Frank says amicably. 

“Okay,” Charlie nods with a shrug. “I took your money.”

The click of the gun reloading is the first thing he hears before he’s suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Dude, what the hell!” he shouts and tries to step away; the gun follows. “You said you wouldn’t shoot!” 

“I can’t believe you, Charlie! I trusted you.” Frank cries, and his voice rings of betrayal but his eyes glisten crocodile tears and Charlie has honestly had enough of all of this.

“I didn’t spend any of it, dude, I swear!” he shouts just as Mac launches himself full force onto Frank. 

The two topple to the ground in a soundtrack of gunfire and screaming and Charlie’s world cuts with fire and falls dark.

_________

Charlie wakes to a brilliant headache. His shoulder aches something fierce and he honestly could just claw his own stomach out right now. 

It takes him a moment, but he can feel the ground beneath his back and and the tile is cold against his bare skin. Well, mostly bare.  
He winces as he struggles to sit up, and suddenly there are voices and arms helping him, a soft hand on his back, calloused fingers carding through his hair, well-manicured nails digging against his arm pit to help steady him. 

He blinks rapidly and the faces of Dee, Dennis, and Mac swarm into view. 

Suddenly, Charlie is very much aware of his state of undress, his shirt discarded on the floor beside him. Panic is quick is grip his mind, his breath a little too fast, a little too sharp.

“Charlie, bro, it’s okay.”

Mac. That’s Mac. Mac is handing him his shirt.

The fabric is soft and worn and Charlie feels trapped, itches to breathe properly without elastic wrapping tighter and tighter around his lungs. He quickly tugs the shirt on, barely wincing as something pulls in his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” his voice is hoarse and he hates the way Dee and Dennis are staring at him. 

“Well,” Dennis begins loftily, “Mac had the brilliant idea of tackling a man with a loaded gun. As they fell Frank shot you in the shoulder.”

“Oh.” So that’s why he hurt. 

“You fell and hit your head pretty hard,” Dee adds softly, pushing a piece of hair off Charlie’s forehead.

“Fortunately, it was just a stupid bb-gun,” Dennis scoffs. “Unfortunately, he hit you pretty point blank, so you’ll be sore for a while, but nothing life-threatening.” 

“Great,” Charlie mutters darkly. “Where’s Frank, now?” he carefully twists so he can look around the room.

“Who the hell cares,” Mac snaps and leans closer to Charlie. “The man tried to kill you.”

“No he didn’t,” Charlie shakes his head, “he would’ve brought a real gun for that.”

“Goddamn it, dude, the man shot you and you’re still gonna defend him?” Mac is mad and Charlie is too exhausted to even try and argue with him, he’s almost relieved when Frank sheepishly appears from the back room.

“Hey, buddy, how’re you feeling?”  
“Like I got shot with a bb-gun,” Charlie deadpans. Frank winces and slowly shuffles so he’s standing in front of Charlie.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I didn’t mean to actually shoot you,” he says, and Charlie desperately wants to believe he’s being serious. 

“Whatever, man, it wasn’t a real bullet,” he shrugs, grimacing when his shoulder twinges painfully. 

“No, not ‘whatever, man’,” Mac shouts. “Frank shot Charlie!”

“Well, he stole my money,” Frank shrugs. “Which, by the way, what the hell, Charlie?” 

Frank doesn’t seem mad anymore, just disappointed in the way Charlie can only assume Dads are disappointed in their children. 

His opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it just as abruptly. 

“It was stupid,” his voice is too somber, and the gang shifts anxiously, “I really didn’t spend any of it. It’s in my sock drawer.”

“Why would you need $500 dollars?” Dennis asks at the same time as Dee goes, “Is that why you were asking us for money?”

Charlie’s head really hurts.

“I just,” he starts, huffs angrily when he feels his eyes burning, “I needed some things.”

There’s a quick stab in his gut and Charlie bites his tongue to stop a groan of pain.

“Is that why you needed money?” Mac asks, because of course Mac would notice him in pain and of course Mac would make the connection. 

Charlie really doesn’t want to have this conversation with the whole gang crowded around him, but they don’t look like they are going anywhere soon.

“I haven’t had enough money for the past six weeks,” Charlie says vaguely, eyes focused on Mac. “I’m feelin’ a little fucked up, dude.” 

Dee and Dennis are holding a silent conversation over his head and Frank just looks utterly lost. 

“Dude, you know I would’ve helped you out, man. I mean, come on,” Mac gestures towards Charlie with a frown, “how old is that thing?”  
“What thing?” Dennis asks immediately, but Charlie ignores him and shrugs lightly.

“Old enough.”

“Oh!” Suddenly Frank’s eyes light up and he’s staring at Charlie with something that resembles concern. “Alright, yeah. I’ll accept that. I’m taking $300, but you can keep the rest, I guess,” he shrugs as if he hasn’t just completely changed Charlie’s world.

“Seriously?” he breathes, “you’d really do that for me, Frank?” 

“Yeah,” Frank pushes his glasses up absently, “the whore wasn’t that great, anyways.”

“I’m sorry, what the hell is happening?” Dennis shouts too close to Charlie’s ear. He’s standing now, arms crossed as he glowers at Frank. “You can’t spare us $20 bucks half the time, but you’re going to give him $200?” 

Dee carefully helps Charlie stand, but he can tell she’s a little miffed, too. Mac is instantly by his side, wide girth pushing Dee out of the way as he places a steadying hand on Charlie’s shoulder. His fingers scruff lightly against the nape of his neck and Charlie subtly leans against him.

“Sure,” Frank shrugs, “unless you want another chick running around the bar, but I think Dee is enough.”

Mac’s grip tightens on his shoulder, and Charlie is glad because otherwise he might have ripped Frank’s face off. 

Something clicks in Dee’s mind and she’s turning angry, bright eyes on Charlie, Dennis simply stares at him impassively. 

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been off hormones for six weeks?” her voice is screechy and Charlie winces.

“I couldn’t afford it, Dee!” he shouts back, he’s angry and vulnerable and everyone really needs to fuck off. 

“Then you tell us, dipshit,” Dennis’s voice is cool but his words are firm. “Because, I mean, really, Dee truly is enough.”

Dee squawks indiginantly, but Charlie’s focused on Dennis, who isn’t currently calling him slurs or making fun of him, just maintaining steady eye contact with a tiny tilt of his head. 

Dee’s cries die off and Charlie glances around at the gang--their all silent, faces kinder than Charlie can remember seeing in a long time.

“I--” he chokes briefly, swallows, “thank you.”

“We love you, man,” Mac grins, and suddenly Charlie finds himself in a four-man embrace, the gang murmuring soft reasurances against him. Charlie’s laugh is teary but genuine as he lets himself be enveloped by his friends. 

They stay that way for maybe a minute before a lone customer who didn’t get the memo walks through the door. The gang groans but slowly breaks apart.

Dee smiles at Charlie before wandering off to harass the customer. Dennis gives his good shoulder a squeeze and joins his sister. 

“I’m serious, Charlie,” Frank says by his side. “Keep the money. Tell me next time,” he adds before disappearing to the back room.

“Wow,” Charlie says lamely when it’s just him and Mac. “He goes from offensive to saint in the blink of an eye.”

“I don’t know about Saint,” Mac huffs against his neck, but Charlie can feel his smile. “More like chaotic cherub.”

Charlie laughs and Mac steers him towards the back alley, intent on getting him away from the twins and customers.

“Seriously, though,” Mac finally says once they are outside. He hooks a hand under Charlie’s shirt and snaps his binder. “This thing is fucking old and gross. How are you still breathing?”

Charlie shrugs but reaches for Mac’s hand when it slips down. 

“Could be worse.”

“Worse than a permanently warped--”

“Mac,” Charlie cuts his friend off, “I got $200 bucks now, I’ll be fine.” 

Mac tangles their fingers together and gently squeezes. 

“Yeah well, hopefully soon you won’t have to,” he says evasively, and Charlie wants to question what it was exactly that happened when he was passed out on the floor, but he’s really fucking tired.  
“Alright, man, let’s get you some ibuprofen, a warm shower, and sleep,” Mac says with a smile, swinging their hands gently. 

“Thanks, Mac,” Charlie beams, and the warm tint to Mac’s face is better than any words he could have said.

Charlie is used to pain, but he’s learning he doesn’t have to share it alone.


End file.
